Formal
by cautiousAlbatross
Summary: Senior prom and John doesn't have a date. Typical.


Your name is John Egbert and you're really not sure you want to go to prom at all.

This is your senior year – your last chance to actually enjoy prom – and you don't even have a date. Going stag with Dave Strider, resident best friend and far too cool for school, may have worked before, but this year you _need _a date. Thinking you probably shouldn't have left this till an hour before prom, you run through a mental list of possibilities. Unfortunately, your options aren't great.

There's Vriska – weird name, weirder personality – who had a crush on you in eighth grade, but is now dating that weedy sap she used to bully. You think you could probably do worse, but she could definitely do better.

Dave's sister, Rose, is clever and beautiful and mildly terrifying and extremely gay, and you think you'd probably rather stab yourself in the eye with a knitting needle than experience a condescending rejection from her.

Your sister, Jade, is out of the question, for obvious reasons.

Dave's blind ex-girlfriend, Terezi, once tried to convince you to get yourself killed on a dare – and you would have done it if Dave hadn't changed your mind – so she's probably not a good idea.

You're trying to think of someone else – anyone else – when your phone rings. For a moment, you hope it's someone asking you to prom, but it's just Dave.

"Hey," you say, flopping down onto your bed, carefully avoiding the suit laid out for you by your dad.

"Hey," he replies, "Listen, dude, I've got a problem."

"So have I," you say.

"I told you, you have to get your date _before_ prom starts," he says, sighing, "But look, this isn't about your utter failure to get anyone to go out with you, ever."

"What is it about, then?" you ask, rolling your eyes even though he can't see you.

"It's about my failure to have anyone to go to prom with right now."

"What? Are you serious?"

You sit up, suddenly hopeful. Maybe going stag with Dave wouldn't be so bad – at least you'd have someone to dance with.

"I thought you were getting back together with Terezi?" you say, trying to sound concerned.

"Yeah, I thought so too, but she's bailed on me to go with Karkat," he says, sounding exasperated.

"Finally giving him a chance, then?"

"Good luck to him," he laughs, "He's going to need it."

"Is she really that bad?" you ask, lying back down and half-wishing your phone had a cord so you could wind it around your fingers.

Sometimes you just really wished you lived in an old movie.

"She's okay, I guess," he says, and you can _hear_ him shrugging.

"So, what's this call for, then?"

"You know what. You're going to prom with me."

"You have to ask, you know," you say, a teasing note in your voice, "For all you know, I might be going with someone else."

"You're not, though."

"That's beside the point."

"Fine, then. Will you go to prom with me?"

"Maybe."

He sighs. You laugh. You pause for a moment, winding him up.

"Pick me up in half an hour, and bring a corsage," you say, only half joking.

"Of course, my princess," he says, sounding entirely sincere, and hanging up.

Twenty minutes later, you're still lying on your bed, thinking that maybe you should get dressed soon. Sighing, you sit up, and grudgingly pull on the suit. You feel it's too formal for what will essentially be another night of pissing around with your bro, but figure you might as well go out in style. The shirt is stiff, and so white you could swear it glows. You admire your reflection, thinking you look remarkably dapper, and check the clock. You're just thinking that Dave should be here any moment, when the doorbell rings. You dash downstairs, unable to stop yourself from grinning excitedly, and pull the door open.

"Your carriage has arrived," Dave says, bowing theatrically.

"And where's my corsage?" you ask, one hand on your hip.

"Right here," he says, producing a ridiculously elaborate corsage, which looks like it contains real roses.

"It's perfect," you say, clutching it to your chest, only joking a little.

You pull it onto your wrist, and twist it from side to side, admiring it.

"There, now you look like a real princess," he says, smiling.

You notice that he's still wearing those sunglasses you got him, even to prom. Somehow, he makes it work.

"Let's go, then," you say, linking arms with him.

"And Cinderella shall go to the ball," he jokes, leading you out to his car.

You spend the first hour or so of the evening sitting at the edge of the room, making snarky comments. It's fun, but hardly a dream prom.

"Hey," you say eventually, "Aren't you going to ask me to dance?"

"Oh, of course. How could I be so rude?"

Dave stands up, and walks around the table, so he's standing in front of you. He bows, offering you his hand.

"May I have this dance?" he asks.

You take his hand and stand up.

"You may," you reply, grinning.

You dance like a loon. Your uncoordinated flailing leaves you with a lot of empty space to dance in, as everyone around you is terrified you might hit them. Beside you, Dave's moves are predictably smooth. You should probably be embarrassed by how terrible you are, but you're having far too much fun for that.

Later, the music slows down, and Dave holds you close, swaying gently. You're too bad at dancing to do anything more than step backwards and forwards, carefully avoiding his feet, but you feel like a prom queen anyway.

"Thanks," you whisper into his shoulder, "This is the best prom, ever."

"Not bummed you couldn't get a date any more, then?"

"I thought you were my date."

He doesn't reply for a moment, and you hold your breath, wondering how he's going to respond. Was that an acceptable comment? Or was it beyond the bounds of bro-dom?

"Do you want me to be your date?" he asks, pulling back slightly and lifting your chin with one hand so you're looking straight at him.

Somehow, you think, this has gone beyond a joking friend-date.

"Maybe," you say, smiling.

Somehow, you think, you're totally okay with that.

"Good," he says, bringing his hand back to his face and pushing his sunglasses up onto his head.

You wonder what he's doing, when he leans in and kisses you and suddenly you don't really care about anything else. Instinctively, you close your eyes and lean forward into the kiss, slipping your hands around his waist. His right hand slips into your hair, and you make a little humming noise, smiling and thinking you really like that.

"Okay," you say, pulling back slightly, "_Now_ this is the best prom ever."

"Seconded," he says, smiling and leaning in for another kiss.


End file.
